


Out from the Shadows

by EarendilEldar



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, M/M, Reunions, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-18 08:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19330567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilEldar/pseuds/EarendilEldar
Summary: Ah, everybody's happily paired up and found peace and healing in the West.  Everything was going so nicely.  Now what?





	1. Chapter 1

It was a bright and windy morning, warm and enjoyable along the shoreline.  Many Elves, mostly Teleri, went about their day’s work in a leisurely manner, chatting and laughing with one another.  It was the sort of day without any rush and little details seemed to simply manage themselves. 

No one marked the grey-hooded figure that moved haltingly along the shadowy bases of the Pelóri that rose so sharply beside the coast.    

* * *

“Are you _still_ asleep, lazy Elf?”

“Yes,” came the muttered reply.

“Ah, then you talk in your sleep!  Perhaps now all your passionate declarations make sense.”

A muffled groan, then, “Stop talking and come back to bed!”

“No!  I’m wide awake and already dressed.  Come now, it is time to eat.”

“’m not hungry.  ‘M sleepy.”

“Timo, you cannot -”

“I cannot sleep without you in my arms, Káno.  Please?”

A deep sigh.  “Well, I suppose….”

“There, see?  Isn’t that better?”

“For you, maybe.  I’ve never liked lying abed whiles dressed.”

“You could very simply alter your state of dress.”

“Ah, now we have it.  This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“It might have been,” Maedhros murmured against Fingon’s cheek. 

Fingon shook his head.  “I should have known,” he said, dropping a kiss upon Maedhros’s lips. 

Maedhros quickly wrapped his arms around Fingon and deepened the kiss.  “ _Ai, meldanya_ ….  Your lips are like wine to me.”

Fingon grinned.  “And yours, my beautiful Maitimo, are like salt to me.”

Maedhros pouted deeply.  “Salt?!” he cried indignantly.

Fingon just laughed affectionately.  “Aye.  They preserve me, and bring out the full flavor of everything.”

“Oh…,” Maedhros murmured.  “Well, you have always been more the poet than I.”

“That is true.  But I can make no poetry or music when hungry.  You may choose to lie here all the day, but I am going to eat,” Fingon said, pulling himself firmly out of Maedhros’s hold. 

Maedhros pouted.  “Alright.  I shall rise, if only because I’d rather be beside….”

Fingon turned halfway to the door when his husband trailed off.  Maedhros had sat up in bed, but was wearing an expression somewhere been confusion and pain and looking distant.

“Timo?” Fingon said quietly, “What troubles you, beloved?”

Maedhros pressed his hand to his eyes and shook his head.  Whether to indicate “nothing” or “I know not” Fingon couldn’t tell. 

“Maitimo?” Fingon said again, growing worried.  Not now, he thought… Valar, _not now_!  It hadn’t even been two years since Maedhros had been rehoused, only months since their wedding – how could something be wrong now? 

“Káno, I feel….”  Maedhros clenched his eyes shut in concentration, then sighed in frustration.  “It is like feeling someone beloved is in despair….  But, you are here and well.  All I love dwell here, in peace.”

Fingon moved to sit beside Maedhros on the bed.  He took Maedhros’s hand in his.  “Perhaps it is but a memory?”

“Perhaps,” Maedhros said, though his frown remained.  He pulled Fingon close and nuzzled his shoulder, seeking the comfort and assurance he’d always found there.

* * *

As the cloaked figure rounded the shoulder of the last peak before the passage of the Calacirya, a forest spread out to the left, enrobing the way up to bright Tirion.  There, the traveller fell, unable to go another step.

* * *

“I shall hardly have strength to beat hot steel all day now,” Celebrimbor murmured, rolling aside.

Erestor followed to recapture Celebrimbor’s lips and to settle himself in his lover’s arms.  “Why not join me in the library instead?” Erestor suggested with a languid smirk.

“It hasn’t come to _that_ , my dear,” Celebrimbor laughed, stroking Erestor’s long, glossy hair. 

“All I know is that I have never been done out of so much energy that I could not catalogue and annotate books and scrolls,” Erestor said haughtily.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that a challenge,” Celebrimbor grinned wolfishly. 

“And, lo!  Your strength is regained!” Erestor teased.

“That is your doing, _herven-nin_ ,” Celebrimbor said, his lips ghosting along Erestor’s neck.  “Ever have you kindled a forge-fire within me….”

“Has the world about you ever made sense in terms _not_ of fire or metal or jewels?” Erestor laughed.

“I fear not,” Celebrimbor admitted. 

“I thought as much,” Erestor sighed.  “Well, come then, bring your hammer to me once again.  But douse me in cold water afterward and I shall never speak to you again!”

Celebrimbor laughed as he bore Erestor upon his back again, flicking his tongue at Erestor’s ear-point and being rewarded with long legs immediately wrapping about his waist.

* * *

“I trust you have not forgotten your appointment this afternoon?” Fingon said, passing the butter.  “Perhaps you should send a message and delay -”

“That’s not necessary,” Maedhros said, shaking his head as he buttered the toasted bread on his plate.  “A memory, as you said, nothing more.”  Maedhros set down the butter knife and reached for the little pot of cinnamon, sprinkling it liberally over the toast before offering it to Fingon.

“You eat like these Halflings,” Fingon laughed, declining to sweeten his morning meal further.

“Aye, and happily!  They are the only creatures I’ve ever met who know the first thing about eating.  I wished I’d lived amongst them always.”

“You could never have even entered one of their homes!  You would tower over their little hills,” Fingon cackled. 

“Then I should construct a great, towering hill for myself and invite them to dwell there with me,” Maedhros said as if any sensible person would have come to the same conclusion.

Fingon smiled fondly, then took his napkin and rubbed it across Maedhros’s left arm.  “Butter on your wrist, darling,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” Maedhros said.  “I love you, Káno,” he murmured.

“And I you, Timo.  Forever.”

* * *

“Have fun in your forge,” Erestor murmured, kissing Celebrimbor’s cheek. 

“And you in your library, beautiful.  Do try not to exhaust my poor old uncle overmuch; I expect his husband might like him to have some strength left at days’ end… or beginning.”

“You are all the same in that way,” Erestor accused with a grin.  “Whoever said that Elves are continent never met one of Finwë’s line.”

“Now, aren’t you glad of that!” Celebrimbor said, pulling Erestor in for a proper kiss while slipping a hand inside his morning coat to stroke down his hip.

“Be away with you!” Erestor chided.  “You keep your Lord waiting.  And twice is enough for one morning.  Even for you.  Furthermore, I have no wish to be discovered in the heat of passion by your uncle.”

“Then stop being so irresistible,” Celebrimbor purred before giving Erestor one more kiss and departing for his forge-house further along the valley toward the western edge of the mountains. 

Some while after Celebrimbor set out, Erestor put aside his catalogue of scrolls and changed his morning coat for a lighter cotehardie that would better serve for working in the garden.  He went out to meet Maedhros beyond the garden gate, but as he walked out, his attention was caught by something in the grass far up toward the mountainside, before the edge of the forest.  Surely some hunter wouldn’t have left a catch to lie there, he thought, going that way to see if some creature had been injured. 

The closer he came, the clearer it became that it was a person lying there, wrapped in a heavily-worn cloak.  Erestor approached slowly and cautiously and was startled half out of his mind when Maedhros, emerging from the road through the forest called out, “Where do you go, Garden Master?”

Erestor turned and silently pointed ahead.  Maedhros was by his side within moments and peering toward the hooded figure.  “What’s happened here?” Maedhros asked in the faintest whisper. 

Erestor shook his head.  “I cannot say, I’ve only just spotted… who- or whatever it is.”

“Stay here a moment,” Maedhros said, stepped forward. 

Before Erestor could say anything, Maedhros had knelt down close to the fallen wanderer, checking for signs of life and drawing back the deep hood.  Then Maedhros stilled and stayed still for the longest time.  Erestor was half afraid he’d been bewitched somehow and didn’t know whether he ought to approach or flee for help until he heard the elder Elf murmur “It cannot be….”

“What is it?” Erestor ventured warily.

“It is my brother,” Maedhros said, as if in shock.  Then Maedhros turned in a flash.  “He needs help, at once!  Run ahead for Elrond – I will bear him there directly.”

For a fraction of a moment, Erestor hesitated.  Then he took off at a sprint toward Tirion, refusing to permit himself question which other son of Fëanor this might be.


	2. Chapter 2

“Elrond!” Erestor shouted as he ran through the street leading up to the House of Elrond and Celebrían.  “Come quickly!  You are needed!” he cried, rushing up to the balcony where Elrond sat with his wife, still taking tea in their morning gowns. 

Elrond rose and set his cup aside but appeared more confused than alarmed.  Erestor had never been given to hysterics or exaggeration of any sort, but this was Aman… so, what could possibly be so dire?  Though, he supposed, accidents might occur anywhere….

“Erestor, what seems to be the matter?  Is someone injured?”

“Injured, dying, half-alive, I know not,” Erestor said, catching his breath.  “Please, prepare whatever you can.  Maedhros bears him here now as swiftly as he may.”

Elrond caught Erestor’s shoulder, wondering for a moment if something had gone wrong in Celebrimbor’s forge, but he did not read that sort of fear in Erestor’s eyes.  “Who is hurt, my friend?” Elrond asked calmly.  He reached his other hand toward Celebrían in a silent request for her to find a place in their home where he might tend the injured, since there was no healing apartment set aside here as in Imladris.

“It appears to be one of his brothers, Elrond,” Erestor said, “though I did not see him and did not ask which.  It was a hooded figure and seemed lifeless, lying in the grass between the mountainside and the wood.  I know they say rehousing is an ordeal, but this Elf… the Lords would not leave one in such a state, surely?”

“No,” Elrond said, shaking his head but looking somewhat distant.  “Inscrutable they may be, but not cruel.   But there may be one who never had to be remade.  Can he have lived… all this time?”  Elrond pressed his fingers to his brow in that old habit that Erestor had not seen since the day they arrived at Mithlond, then turned to go inside the house.

Erestor followed, asking, “What can I do to help?”  It was so much like those days of the Third Age, rushing to prepare a place for guards wounded in some orc-skirmish….

“I don’t know,” Elrond admitted.  “Of a time, I might have asked you to send for Glorfindel to assist.  Now… I don’t know.  This may be well beyond my skill as it is.  If it is even remotely possible that an Elf could endure _two ages_ wandering….”

“You would be surprised what one might endure,” Erestor said quietly. 

“Erestor?” called Fingon worriedly from the doorway, “I saw you come running… is my husband not with you?  He had set out -”

“He will be along,” Erestor assured him, knowing too well the panic he would feel if he’d thought something had happened to Celebrimbor.  “We found someone, injured, or…  I know not….  It appears to be one of his brothers.”

“One of his brothers?” Fingon echoed in a murmur.  “Timo had a premonition just this morning.  I thought maybe he shouldn’t go out from the city, but he insisted all was well.”

“It may be fortuitous that he did.  One hopes….”

“Káno!  Help me bear him!” call Maedhros, approaching the house.  “He is feather-light, but it is difficult for me to keep hold -”

“Let me,” Fingon said, rushing forth to take the lifeless form from his husband’s arms.

“I should have borne him,” Erestor apologized, “I did not think.  Come this way, Elrond is within.”

“No, I would have let no other.  It is a task for none but kin.  But I thank you for finding him,” Maedhros said, leaning for a moment against Elrond’s doorway as Fingon followed Celebrían down to the room readied. 

“Should I send for Celeb?” Erestor asked quietly.

“Not yet, I think,” Maedhros said.  “My nephew’s skill is great in some things, but I think there little he can do here.”

“Caring needs no skill,” Erestor said but did not push the point.

“It does though,” Maedhros said.  “And it is a skill not everyone possesses in equal measure.  Your husband does, and as greatly as in more material matters.  But do not trouble him until we know more.”

Erestor was quiet for a long moment.  He’d dealt with ages of the thorniest political issues, but family politics like this were out of his sphere of experience.  “That is not his father, is it?” he finally pushed himself to ask.

Maedhros sighed deeply.  “I think it shall be time uncounted before Curufinwë sees these shores again,” he said, putting his hand on Erestor’s shoulder.  “I know what you fear, Erestor.  I have feared it, too, of my own brothers.  No, my friend… this is my dearest, most gentle brother… my Makalaurë.”

“You should go to him,” Erestor said.  “I’ve assisted Elrond with patients in the past.  They know when a loved one is near.”

Maedhros nodded.  “I truly cannot thank you enough for finding him,” he said, clasping Erestor’s shoulder.  “I did not think to ever see him again.”

Erestor shook his head.  “I’ve done nothing.  But I hope that I may be of some help, if I am needed.”

“There is something you might do,” Maedhros said quietly.  “If Elrond is unable to do anything, I would bear him west to Lórellin, where I myself found healing.  But I will not be able to do it on foot.  I would need a mount.”

Erestor nodded.  “Consider one ready at need.”

Again Maedhros clasped Erestor’s shoulder and nodded back in thanks, then turned to go to the room Fingon had carried Maglor to.  Erestor watched him hesitantly approach the room, saw the tension in his shoulders and the quickness of his breathing.  It was only partly from the exertion of bearing his brother through the forest and up to the city.  Erestor wasted no further time in going to find an hostler.

* * *

“Elrond?” Maedhros murmured as he stepped into the dimly lit room.  He moved as one afraid to break a very delicate spell woven in the air.

Elrond looked up with a deeply furrowed brow and nodded for Maedhros to come to Maglor’s side.  Fingon and Celebrían stayed aside.  Again, Elrond lowered his head in concentration, grasping Maglor’s hand while pressing another against his forehead.

After some while, Elrond let out a long sigh and his shoulders seemed to drop.  “There is no evil at work here, no poison I might cure,” he muttered.  “Nothing but weariness to the depths of his fëa.  And I have never had the power to alleviate that sort.”  He glanced momentarily at Celebrían, who moved to Elrond’s side.  

“We are in Aman, he may rest here -” Celebrían started to say, but Maedhros shook his head.

“It is not enough.  I’m taking him to Lórellin,” Maedhros said determinedly.  “I do not know how he survived all this time without fading into sand and seafoam, but I will not lose him now.”

“Maitimo,” Fingon said softly.  “You cannot bear him across -”

“I shall not bear him on foot,” Maedhros said.  “Erestor goes even now to prepare a horse.  But I will bear my brother to where he might be made fit again.”

Fingon knew well that stubborn set to Maedhros’s chin and just nodded.  After all, had he not been as stubborn when it was Maedhros returned but still in need of healing?

“Let me but make him ready?” Elrond asked.  “These garments are all but rags, and his hair dull and matted….  Ada was always so well turned-out….”

“He will be again, _yonya_ ,” Maedhros said, pulling Elrond into a hug.  “Káno, my love, if you remember the way, can you lead us?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said a white-robed figure who appeared at the doorway.  “I met Erestor preparing a horse and he directed me here.  Some things never do change, eh, Elrond?”

“Mith- Olórin.  Can you assist me making him fit for the journey?”

“Of course.  Then I shall conduct him and his bearer to the Gardens.”

“Thank you, old friend,” Elrond said, inclining his head. 

“Perhaps more than one bearer would be appropriate,” Olórin said, producing a silver comb from seemingly out of nowhere and beginning to smooth the long, dark hair of the insensate Elf.

Elrond stopped carefully cutting the ruined tunic away from Maglor’s emaciated form and looked up. 

“I agree,” Maedhros said quickly.  “Come with us.  It will make a difference, you being there.”

Elrond lowered his head again.  “Aye.  If my presence will help, I will go, also, to the Gardens of Lórien.”

It wasn’t long before Elrond and Olórin had Maglor prepared for the journey across the plains of Valinor.  Elrond lifted his slight weight from the bed and carried him out to the courtyard where Maedhros had already mounted one of the three horses awaiting.  He helped Fingon settle and adjust Maglor against Maedhros’s shoulder and left arm, so that he might bear his brother along the half-day’s ride.  Then Elrond and Olórin ascended the horses accorded them and they set off. 

“They will return ere long,” Erestor said as Fingon watched them go.

“Aye,” Fingon nodded, “and all shall return well, I know that.  It is only… how many times have I stayed back and watched my Maitimo ride away?  And even knowing this is not the same, we are married and made one now, and he shall celebrate his brother’s return to health as shall I… I cannot help but remember all the other times, and all that kept us apart for so long.”

“We never need fear those days again,” Erestor said, a hand on Fingon’s shoulder, knowing he, too, would never truly forget the centuries he endured from Celebrimbor’s death at the hands of Sauron until their reunion upon the western shores.

“Thank the Powers,” Fingon sighed.  Then he turned.  “You dwelt in Menegroth, did you not?”

“I did,” Erestor said quietly.  “I was there when Dior was killed.  And certainly I only survived because I helped get Elwing to safety.  I was afraid, I admit, when your husband first returned here, for that day in the caves was all I knew of any son of Fëanor.  But my husband spoke for him, as did Elrond, and there are no two Elves in Aman I trust more than those.  And now I’ve come to know Maedhros, I’ve found I see far more of Celebrimbor’s temperament in him than I ever imagined.  And they say Maglor was even more so the mild one.” 

“Mild…,” Fingon echoed with a faint laugh.  “Aye, I suspect many knew him as such.  I remember him somewhat differently.  When we were but children, in these very streets and forests, I remember Makalaurë as the inconvenient little tagalong.  He wanted to go everywhere his big brother went, whether he was invited or no.  I remember how we would run ahead and hide and try to lose him.  Nerdanel never chided us too roundly for it, though.  She knew Fëanor little tolerated our friendship as it was, and so instead distracted little Makalaurë with the art of making music.  And when we were older, Makalaurë would distract his parents with his songs while Timo and I slipped away to those secreted places where we could hold one another.”

“It is something, is it not?  An entire family, an entire race, cursed by the greed and faithlessness of but one Elf….”

“Oh, yes,” Fingon agreed.  “I think there has not been one Elf who has not been in some way done wrong by Fëanor’s misdeeds.  But it is for us now to remake our former bliss.  And now we may do so with new friends.  Come, let us go to my home to make a place for my husband’s brother to stay as long as he may like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yonya = my son


	3. Chapter 3

“How does he fare?” Elrond asked, riding close to Maedhros. 

“As a sleeping child,” Maedhros said, his brother cradled in his arms as they rode across the plains of Valinor.  “I should think him the most untroubled and happy Elf ever to come back from the east, if only he were not so terribly ashen and gaunt.”

“When he is awakened and well enough to return with us to Tirion, he shall eat like a Hobbit and grow as fat as a Dwarf,” Elrond promised. 

“He never did eat overmuch,” Maedhros said quietly.  “His song was his sustenance.  He would sit and play upon his harp throughout meals and we had to coax him to stop a while and eat.”

Elrond nodded.  “Aye.  I remember well him feeding Elros and me like we were waifs, but he rarely ate much himself.  I am ashamed to admit how old I was before I realised that was because those were days of such hardship that there was hardly enough to feed one Elf let alone four.”

“You were so old because he would not have had you realise such a thing in your youth,” Maedhros said.  “He wanted you to know happiness and what comfort you could, despite our circumstances.”

“I came to understand that when my own children were born,” Elrond said, “that I would have given anything for them to be happy and well.”

Maedhros looked over at Elrond briefly.  “You have spoken very little about your children since I was returned here.  Why have they not come with you?”

Elrond sighed deeply.  “My sons may yet come, they had not made their choice when I departed.  I find I do not know their hearts and minds here as I did in Middle-earth, though, and perhaps they have chosen the life of the Edain.  My daughter did so, like another Luthien, for love of the mortal son who I fostered and loved as one of my own.  If I speak little of them, it is not because I love them little, but because I love them and miss them so greatly that if I think on it too much, I should forsake the West and try to find my way back to them.  But I cannot.  I must let them be grown and govern their own days.”

“When you and Elros elected to remain with Gil-galad’s company, I think it was the hardest thing Makalaurë ever had to accept,” Maedhros said, looking down at his brother.  “You were full-grown, but still so young in his eyes, and yet he knew you would both do well amongst their people and he hoped fervently that you might be distanced from the Curse if you were distanced from us.  He became so weary without you, though.  You were his joys.”

“I thought of him daily,” Elrond murmured.  “Both of you.  And when I learned of your fate, I was sorely tempted, many times, to strike out and search for my ada and bring him back to us.  I hoped for centuries that he might come back on his own or that some word would be had.  There never was even a whisper.”

“Please, my dear little brother, do not stay away from us now,” Maedhros whispered, clasping his left arm tighter around Maglor.  “Let your fëa be strong enough to take healing and then come back among us, who love you and miss you desperately.”

* * *

“I thank you for assisting me with this,” Fingon said, “I’m afraid this isn’t my sort of thing at all, arranging rooms for people.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Erestor said.  “When Maedhros first arrived, did you not -”    

“Yes, but I’ve been in love with him since we were children, and people in love do all manner of things they’d never undertake otherwise.”

Erestor had to laugh.  “Aye, that is rather true.  Why, when my husband -”  He stopped suddenly and his eyes went wide.  “Oh, Eru… my husband!  I left no message, he’ll have no idea where I’ve gone.  Excuse me,” Erestor said, turning toward the door, “I must go, or send a message, or….”

“Or wait for him to come to you,” Celebrimbor said, appearing in the doorway.  “I was a bit worried when I found no sign of either you or -”

“Celeb, my love,” Erestor said, all but running to his husband’s arms, “I’m sorry to have worried you.  Everything’s happened so quickly, and your uncle assured me I needn’t trouble you, and we got rather involved here....”

“What goes on, beloved?” Celebrimbor asked, stroking Erestor’s cheek and noting how perturbed he was.  “I don’t know when I’ve seen you so unsettled.”

“When I walked out to meet your uncle, I found someone,” Erestor said, “away, by the edge of the mountains.  He was fallen there, exhausted it seems.  Celeb, it was your second-eldest uncle.  We brought him here at once, to Elrond, but they decided it was Lórellin that Maglor needed… for what else could avail one who had been wandering unmarked these last two ages?”

For a few moments, Celebrimbor just stared, trying to fathom what Erestor seemed to be telling him.  Maglor?  But it was practically common knowledge that he had gone away to the shore, cast the last of Fëanor’s terrible jewels into the sea, and then wandered there evermore, to fade into nothingness. 

“It’s quite true,” Fingon said, joining them in the entryway.  “My husband rode out about midday with his brother in his arms, along with Elrond and Olórin, to the land of Irmo and Estë.  I shouldn’t think to expect them for another two or three days, at the very least.  I think Makalaurë could sleep for a month in Murmuran, as I saw him, before being ready to return here, and I know Maitimo will not leave there without his brother.”

Celebrimbor shook his head in wonder, his arms still around Erestor.  “It seems we are never short of wonders upon these shores.”

“No, indeed,” Fingon agreed.  “Though not before time, I think it.  Our families are due some wholeness, where such may be made.  Well… perhaps you will both join me for supper and a glass or two of wine?  I would welcome the company after this unusual day.”

Celebrimbor glanced at Erestor for his opinion and Erestor nodded.  “Aye.  If you don’t mind us rather… casual,” Erestor said, brushing down his cotehardie and casting a look at his husband’s bare arms.

Fingon just laughed and shook his head.  Erestor was well known as one of the very few Elves who still insisted upon formality in his dining room at their home outside the city.  “Aye, my friend.  Let us make it a picnic.  There’s always something being served in the square beside my brother’s house by the south gate.  Turgon has ever been a much more natural host than I.”

* * *

Afternoon was growing late when the riders approached the shady woodland of silver willows. 

“I recommend dismounting,” Olórin said, “as the horses grow exceptionally sleepy and tend to come to a standstill under the trees.”

“Is it far to go, Mith… Olórin?” Elrond asked, doubting he would ever get used to that.  “I can bear him, if you wish,” he said to Maedhros. 

“It was not far when I came here with Findekáno,” Maedhros said.  “If it has not swelled in these last years, I think I should manage it.  If you could but bear him while I dismount.  Will that tiny boat ferry as many as us, Olórin?  I had my doubts for the three of us the last time.”

Olórin gave a wry smile.  “Think you really such a thing might occur as the ferry to Lórellin foundering?”

“There are a great many things I do not know,” Maedhros said, taking his brother back into his arms.  “But I _have_ learned to trust when given assurances.  Lead on.”

For most of the walk through the wood, Elrond was profoundly silent.  The gardens of Lórien were like nothing he’d ever seen or imagined.  There were so very many times in his life that Elrond thought surely there could be nothing new or incredible left to be found.  And now, here he stood, in the most incredible garden of all, in the land of the Vala to whom he’d devoted his study of healing, and here with the two Elves who’d raised him and made him who he’d become.  He didn’t think he’d felt so young since the day he and Elros had bid Maglor and Maedhros farewell and joined the camp of Gil-galad.  Was it really possible that they might have the opportunity to be a family again, he wondered.

Before long, they came to the shore of the lake, in the midst of which lie the misty island of Lórellin.  Stars glowed and sparkled in the depths of the water, the wonder just as Maedhros remembered it from his last quest for healing.  The little grey boat, though, was not waiting at the lakeside for them, but was tethered at the island. 

“Ah.  As I rather suspected, we are early,” Olórin said, unceremoniously gathering his white robes about him and seating himself upon the ground under a willow tree. 

“Early?” Maedhros asked, shifting Maglor’s negligible weight a bit.

“Early,” Olórin confirmed, leaning back against the tree.  Elrond wouldn’t have been a bit surprised had he taken out his pipe and a pouch of Old Toby and sat smoking and blowing elaborate rings right there. 

“But how shall we cross?  My brother needs help!” Maedhros said, growing worried that the Maia wouldn’t be shifting for some while.

“By the boat, of course,” Olórin said, entirely unconcerned.  “When it is time.”

Elrond cleared his throat softly, being a bit more familiar with how to interact with Istari than his atar.  “How should we know when it is time?” he asked.  “Have we any indication how long it might be?”

Olórin’s gaze went to the lake.  “The Lady rises after the sun is set, not before.  When she is awake, the ferry will come.”

“Ah, I see.  Thank you,” Elrond said.  “Let us lie him down here upon the bank,” Elrond suggested to Maedhros.  “I judge it should be another hour or so before nightfall.”

“Yes, alright,” Maedhros said, somewhat reluctantly but understanding he could not just stand and hold Maglor in his arms until such a time as they were granted crossing to the island.  Together, he and Elrond made Maglor as comfortable as they thought he might be, though he still gave no indication of waking. 

Maedhros stayed close by Maglor’s side, sitting down next to him and stroking his dark hair.  He had to admit that Maglor already looked better for having been bathed and robed in fresh garments, though the plum-red shade seemed to make his pallor all the more apparent and the material itself probably weighed more than Maglor’s bodyweight.

“Two ages,” Maedhros murmured, deftly twining a lock of Maglor’s hair between his fingers in a one-handed plait.  “Did you truly impose exile among exiles upon yourself for two ages?  And how did you ever get back here?  You were no mariner….”

From across the lake floated a large, lazy green moth, seeming more to drift on the breeze than to be bothered doing any flying.  It glided by Olórin, circling once over him before wafting along to the three Elves, where it came to rest upon Maglor’s brow.  Elrond looked up at Olórin, but his old friend just gave him the same old secretive smile he had since the day they’d met.  The visage of the wizened wizard might have transformed the moment they returned to the shores of Eldamar, but there had been no change in the character and spirit of the former Mithrandir.

The moth stayed and rested upon Maglor for some while.  Maedhros could have sworn that his brother’s skin grew less dry and slack, but he was sure it must be his imagination.  After a time, the moth rose up again, with seemingly no effort on its part, and drifted off into the woods, its faint glow disappearing into the sleepy darkness that lie all about. 

Just then, the grey boat unmoored itself from the island and began to cross the lake, unaided by any visible force.

“If you’re ready, we may cross now,” Olórin said, rising and dusting himself off. 

Maedhros rose and Elrond helped him lift Maglor and step into the boat.  He hesitated a moment on the shore as Maedhros was seated.  “Olórin… are you certain that I, too, should see this blessed place?  I am not in need of healing, nor am I the bearer of one who is, and I am but -”

“Your humility is a credit, but you have been invited and no bar to your passage encountered.  Do not doubt your worthiness in the eyes of the Valar, nor your importance in this matter.”

Elrond bowed his head and stepped into the boat, which again moved off without any means of propulsion as soon as Olórin also boarded.  Once on the island, Olórin lead them into the clearing where Estë had sat with Maedhros and mysteriously disappeared after inviting Fingon to take her place.  Ever since that day, Maedhros had wondered if the Lady had done anything at all other than to let him see that he _was_ already healed and free of his past, and that Fingon saw no flaw or limitation about him, but loved him truly and perfectly.

They stood at the edge of the clearing for a moment before the Vala spoke, not taking her gaze from the stars above.  “I welcome you once again, scion of Miriel,” she said softly.  Then she turned and looked toward them.  But she did not look at Maedhros carrying Maglor, but directly at Elrond.  “Come forth, Peredhel,” she invited.

Elrond stood, struck and wide-eyed even as he took a half-step forward.  “My most-esteemed Lady…,” he faltered, “I beg your pardon, but it is not I who has come for your aid and succor.”

Estë smiled gently and said simply, “I know,” holding out her hand toward him.

Elrond stepped into the clearing and reached out.  “I do not understand,” he murmured.

“You were gifted with great healing, and you taught this devotion to others that they might come to know the gifts that were instilled in them, too.  There is but one thing you have yet to learn of this art, one thing you cannot see yet…,” she said, reaching out and brushing her fingertips from Elrond’s forehead down to his chin. 

Elrond closed his eyes as she did so and lowered his head as he saw in his memory the desperation of the days after Elladan and Elrohir had come back bearing their mother.  He saw the shadow upon her that no tincture or salve, no plea or summons could dispel.  Then Elrond wept for the knowledge that what had plagued Celebrían had not required a healer, but a husband, and that he needn’t have blamed himself for not having the skill, for it was only the insight and self-trust he’d lacked.

Elrond looked up at the grey-cloaked Valier with tears in his eyes as she touched his cheek and said, “Sit and rest here a while, greatest of healers among the Firstborn,” and guided him to where he could sit comfortably against a tree. 

Then she turned to Maedhros and approached him and said, “May I hold him?”

“Please, my Lady,” Maedhros whispered.  “He has survived, somehow, all this time….  I wish him to be well again, and come home to those who love him dearly.”

Estë carried Maglor across the clearing and sat with him in her arms, closing her eyes and holding him close.  “His fëa has nearly no fire left,” she murmured.  “He has mourned grievously and given all of his energies to this contrition, even as Miriel gave all of her fëa to the making of your father.  None but my husband’s sister has wept for such a time unbroken as he.”

“But he has not died or faded,” Maedhros said in fraught hope.

Estë rose again and set Maglor upon the stone seat that at once became a soft bed covered in flowers.  “He believes that he must not heed the call of Nämo.”

“Then he is called to death and the Halls, as were we all,” Maedhros said, forcing back tears that threatened to rise.  He did not want to lose his brother like this, not now, but he knew it might be the only possibility.  Maybe Maglor truly needed the time of peace in Mandos to reconcile all the terrible days from the first evil lies of Morgoth until the very day he’d collapsed within sight of Tirion.

Estë stepped away toward a grey tree around which grew a vine of large, white flowers.  She reached out and one flower left the vine and dropped into her hand as if on command.  She dipped the flower into broad basin of water that stood under the tree and brought it over, spilling the water between Maglor’s parched lips. 

“He has been invited, many times,” she said, “but he has the choice to decline the invitation.  Come, Maitimo, be seated here beside your brother.”

Maedhros didn’t hesitate to obey, sitting next to Maglor and grasping one hand in his as Estë took the flower back to the vine, whereupon she reattached it as if it had never come off at all.  He was certain now, looking upon Maglor’s face, that his colour was returning and his skin not looking so terribly aged anymore.

“Please, Makalaurë,” Maedhros whispered, “If only just for a moment….” 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Maglor’s lips began to part until his mouth was nearly wide open.  Then he took a sudden, gasping breath and went perfectly still for a painfully held-out minute.  Then his eyes twitched rapidly behind their lids and finally opened the least little bit as he exhaled.

Maedhros was too awed and frightened to speak to him or move at all.

The smallest voice imaginable, more manipulated breath than even a whisper, came from Maglor’s lips in what sounded roughly like: “Russo?”

“I’m here, dear one,” Maedhros murmured, “I’m here.  And so are you, at long last!”

“ _Masse_?”

Maedhros hesitated.  Would it shock his brother in his state to hear they were in Valinor?  But he and Maglor had never kept things from one another.  He would not start now, not when his dear brother might be at the point of deciding to follow Lord Nämo after all.

“We are in the Blessed Realm, Makalaurë.  I have brought you to the island of Lórellin, for you are weary beyond comprehending, and it is my dearest hope that you find healing and recover here.”

“Tirion…,” Maglor rasped.  Maedhros thought his brother’s voice was becoming stronger, but he was keeping to short, easy responses, and that was not at all like Maglor who could have won awards for talking as well as his singing and harping.  Maedhros knew it would be quite some time before they would be able to converse normally.  If Maglor stayed, that was….

“Aye, dear brother.  We found you near the forest, and we took you first to the city.  But you were so weary….”  Maedhros glanced up at Elrond who was still sat where Estë had lead him.  He wondered for a moment just where the Lady had gone, but dismissed it and beckoned Elrond to come sit with them. 

Elrond rose and came to sit at Maglor’s other side, taking his hand and smoothing back his hair.  Maglor’s eyes had drifted closed again until he felt someone gently take his hand.  He prised his eyes open again with some effort, but stopped when he caught sight of Elrond.  His eyes grew clear within moments as he stared. 

“El-rond?” Maglor gasped, his voice choked now more with emotion than disuse. 

“ _Atya_ …,” Elrond whispered, holding his hand tightly.

“ _Onya_ …,” Maglor said as tears slipped from his eyes.  “ _Onya_ ….”

Elrond couldn’t keep himself from wrapping his arms around the Elf he regarded as his father and his own tears fell upon Maglor’s shoulder.  He knew beyond a doubt that what Lady Estë had imparted to him applied now.  Maglor did not need Estë or Elrond or anyone else to challenge Nämo’s call to his fëa.  He just needed the presence of his loved ones. 

“Will you stay, Makalaurë?  Stay with us and let us be a family again,” Maedhros said, letting go of Maglor’s hand and placing it on Elrond’s back so that Maglor could embrace him.  “There is so much to tell you about, _so_ much I have wanted to share with you….”

“ _Erin_ , Russo,” Maglor murmured, his fingers closing gently around the plait in Elrond’s hair that was just like the ones he’d taught Elrond ages ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masse? = Where?  
> Atya = My father  
> Onya = My son  
> Erin = I will stay


	4. Chapter 4

“You are waking again, brother?” Maedhros said, moving to Maglor’s bedside when the sleeping Elf began to breathe deeper.

“Russo?”

“Aye.”  Maedhros sat down and took Maglor’s hand in his.  “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know….  Too comfortable to wake.” Maglor murmured.

“You may sleep, dear one.  That is why we are here,” Maedhros said, stroking Maglor’s cheek.

“Where are we, Russo?”

“We are in Aman.  Do you remember when you woke briefly before?  I told you I’d bought you to Lórellin in the Blessed Realm?  And now we rest here in Murmuran, as long as you need.”

“That was true?” Maglor said, now opening his eyes.  “I thought I was dreaming or finally gone mad.”

“No, brother, it was quite true, and you are not mad,” Maedhros smiled.

“Elrond was there…,” Maglor said hopefully.

“Aye, and he is here.  He is wandering the gardens of Lórien at this moment, and I think the wonder of this place will live in his heart evermore.  He will be so happy to see you awake again and to speak with you.  He missed his ada terribly, it seems.” 

“I know I should not have kept away, Russo… but I could not….”

“I know, dear one,” Maedhros said quietly, holding Maglor’s hand tightly.  “But you mustn’t lament those days any longer.  All is renewed here, I assure you.”

“What of Elros?” Maglor asked.

Maedhros hesitated.  “I should let Elrond tell you more of him, I think,” he hedged.

“Their choices diverged…,” Maglor surmised.  “But, yes, I will wait to hear Elrond speak to me of his own brother.  Russo… your hand?”

“Aye.  Still just the one,” Maedhros smirked.

“But -”

“I asked the same when I came here to seek healing.  The Lady Estë said to me that my wrist had healed properly in Endorë long ago, and so there was no healing yet required.  I have found that she was correct,” Maedhros shrugged. 

Maglor reached over to press Maedhros’s hand between his, then stopped, running his fingers over a ring.  “You never wore jewels,” he murmured.

“This one is different, Makalaurë,” Maedhros said.

 Maglor inspected the ring for a moment, then looked up at Maedhros with a slight hesitation in his eyes.  “It looks to be the equal of our father’s skill….”

“It is in fact our nephew’s work, and his skill, I believe, is even greater than Fëanor’s.”

“Telperinquar….  I once heard that he was prospering… but something happened.  I stopped listening for word after that.  He made this for you?”

“He uses Celebrimbor now, but yes, he made two of them.  My husband wears the other.”

“Husband?  My big brother is wed.  Who wears the mate of this?”

“Findekáno,” Maedhros smiled.

“Then you are together at last,” Maglor said, equaling Maedhros’s smile.  “I always hoped that you would be, and I feared so that I would lose you when you lost him.”

“If it hadn’t been for you after that terrible day, I don’t think I would have gone on.  Makalaurë… since the day I was returned here, I’ve hoped I would have the chance to tell you how horribly sorry I am that I left you the way I did -”

Maglor reached up to pull Maedhros into an embrace.  “Oh, my brother.  I never held you at fault.  I know full well that you endured more torment that all of us put together.  Only… I missed you….”

“Well, you needn’t do that anymore or ever again,” Maedhros murmured. 

* * *

“How did you manage it, Erestor?” Fingon said, leaning despondently upon the table, idly twisting the wine glass between his fingers.  “It’s only been a week and I don’t know what to do without my husband!” 

“Ignore him,” Turgon advised, pouring more wine into Erestor’s glass, “my brother is dramatic.”

“ _I_ am dramatic?” Fingon challenged.  “You closed yourself off in -”

“My friends, please!” Erestor cried.  He rather agreed with Turgon and wasn’t sure how much more of Fingon’s pouting he could stand.  He certainly understood that it wasn’t easy for him, being away from his husband of only a year, but Erestor had been millennia without Celebrimbor and the circumstances were nothing alike.

“Forgive us,” Turgon said.  “Brotherly quarrelling is customary where we come from.”

Erestor found himself gladder that ever before that he had no siblings.  He was about to assure Fingon that he needn’t fear fading away after a week when there was no doubt that Maedhros was fine, but then he noticed Fingon’s attention shift and his focus sharpen over Erestor’s right shoulder.  Quick as a flash, Fingon jumped up from the courtyard table and dashed across the square to crash into the arms of the tall, red-haired Elf walking toward them. 

“Thank the Powers _that’s_ over,” Turgon muttered, going back inside his house for more wine.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Fingon murmured against Maedhros’s shoulder as he held him tightly.

“Of course I am, beloved,” Maedhros said, kissing Fingon’s cheek.  “It was not so long, was it?”

“Maybe not for you, time passes very differently in Irmo’s realm as I recall it.  I’ve waited a week to hold you again, though.  And that is long for me.  I’m afraid you have a rather impatient husband.  But your brother… has he returned with you?”

“Aye, Makalaurë is with us.  He follows with Elrond, but a bit slower for now.  I wanted to find you straight away, though, for your husband is no more patient when it comes to you,” he said, tilting Fingon’s chin up for a proper kiss.

 “We are well matched,” Fingon murmured with a grin.  “Come, then, and take a glass of wine after your journey?  Erestor and I have prepared a room for Makalaurë to rest if he wishes.  Perhaps they should go there directly?”

“That was the other reason I came ahead,” Maedhros smiled.  “I should have known the two of you would have thought of everything.  Makalaurë has argued with me the entire ride back about being closed up in a room and bidden to rest, though.  And, incredibly, Elrond has turned brother against brother and supported Makalaurë’s desire to be social.  I did finally concede, but I remain confident that I will be vindicated when he finds himself overtired much faster than he expects.”

“Then I shall tell my brother to water down his wine,” Fingon laughed softly as they went to be seated with Turgon, Erestor, and Celebrimbor, who had by then joined the group. 

“Welcome, weary traveller,” Turgon said, handing a glass of wine to Maedhros.  “Your return has been much anticipated.”

“So I’ve seen,” Maedhros grinned.  “My thanks.  And I hope, Garden Master, that our tutorial in graftage may be rescheduled now I am returned,” he said to Erestor.

“Of course,” Erestor nodded, “at such a time is most convenient to you.”

“You have not returned alone, surely, uncle?” Celebrimbor said tentatively.

“Indeed, I have not.  My brother follows, and I am glad you are here, for I fear I may have spoken of you quite a lot.”

“Of me?” Celebrimbor said doubtfully.

Erestor squeezed his husband’s hand.  “Your uncle is proud of you, and justly so,” he said, to which Maedhros nodded.  “And what is this you’ve carried here?” Erestor said, pointing at a small box Celebrimbor had set on the table. 

“Well, that’s rather interesting,” Celebrimbor said.  “You see, I’ve just finished this piece, but… I do not truly know why.”  He removed the lid to show it to Erestor.  “No one has asked me for a circlet and I had no one in mind when I set about creating it last week.”  Celebrimbor shrugged.  “Lord Aulë assured me that it would find the one who suits it best, though.”

“It is beautiful,” Erestor said, lifting it out of its case for a closer look.  “Not that that is anything surprising.  Not quite for me, though, no.” 

“I know, dearest,” Celebrimbor said wryly.  During their days together in Eregion, Celebrimbor had tried many times to convince Erestor to let him fashion a circlet for the office of the Chief Counsellor, but Erestor steadfastly refused, saying that he would not have people think he was taking a position equal to the Lordship when he had no right to such a claim, at least until they were married properly.  It was only once Erestor had arrived in Aman and they were wed that he assented to wear a circlet similar to Celebrimbor’s on festival days and formal occasions.

“May I?” Maedhros asked. 

Celebrimbor nodded and passed the circlet to his uncle. 

Maedhros’s eyes widened with wonder when he turned the diadem and saw the form his nephew had wrought into the design upon the brow – that of a large moth with long, elegant tails, set with pale green stone.  It looked just like the moths of Lórien, like the one that had lit upon Maglor’s forehead as they rested upon the shore, waiting to go to Lórellin. 

Maedhros smiled as he passed it back.  “I think I know precisely who this shall suit.  And I know he shall be proud to wear it, and even more proud of its maker.”

 

 


End file.
